


Waste Not the Gift

by AviaTantellaScott



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AviaTantellaScott/pseuds/AviaTantellaScott
Summary: In the madness and confusion of the fight on Stable Hill, Jill, Tirian, and others are rescued and retreat into exile in Telmar. To cope with the guilt of failing his people, the young King forms a number of outlaw bands to harry the Tisroc’s soldiers, supply lines, and outposts. After refusing to return to her own world, Jill joins Tirian in his mission, but she has no idea just how indispensable she has become.





	Waste Not the Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts), [Starbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/gifts).



> Thank you to nasimwrites for providing me with such a lovely prompt! I've never explored Jill or Tirian in The Last Battle, much less in any sort of romantic relationship, so this was a treat! I hope I have done justice to your wishes.
> 
> This also could be considered a treat for Starbrow, whom I believe had a similar prompt for Jill / Tirian.

_“‘Ware arrows,” said Poggin suddenly._

_Everyone ducked and pulled his helmet well over his nose. The Dogs crouched behind. But though a few arrows came their way it soon became clear that they were not being shot at. Griffle and his Dwarfs were at their archery again. This time they were coolly shooting at the Calormenes._

_“Keep it up, boys!” came Griffle’s voice. “All together. Carefully. We don’t want Darkies any more than we want Monkeys-or Lions-or Kings. The Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs.”_

— The Last Battle, Chapter 12  
  


————  
 

“Sire! Sire! Follow us, there’s not a moment to lose!”

Jill was snapped out of her shock by urgent voices behind them and a sharp tug on her arm.

“Lady, come away! The Calormenes will not be long distracted!”

She turned her tear-stained, muddy face to find a small group of Fauns and Satyrs, warriors by the look of them, pulling urgently at her comrades and beckoning them to follow along the length of the white rock and back into the forest. Three of the Fauns had bows at the ready to cover the retreat. Jill didn’t have time to wonder how their rescuers had managed to reach them; several of the Dogs were already off, the Bear was not far behind, and the Satyr who had a firm grip on her upper arm was beginning to pull her after them.

“Eustace!” she cried to him. “They threw him through the door—!” Her feet were moving against her will; the Satyr was so much stronger than she, although she did her best to dig in her heels. “Eustace—!”

“He is in Aslan’s paws now,” the Satyr blurted out impatiently, though the eyes in his hairy face were sympathetic. “Come! Come!”

Scanning the crowd frantically, Jill found Tirian and saw his mouth open in protest as two Fauns tried to pull him away from making a final stand.

“Sire, though the death would be valiant, you’re of no use to Narnia dead!”

“But my people—!”

“You’re no use to them, either,” one of the Fauns looked the young king sternly in the eye from his shorter height. He was much older than Tirian, with almost all of his fur gone gray and lines creasing his earnest face. “You’re no use to Aslan. Without a king, there is no hope for any of us. But we have to move. Now.”

Tirian’s wild eyes met Jill’s, and then turned to Jewel. The noble Unicorn bowed his great head.

“A glorious death can wait another day. Flee, Sire. We will cover you.”

Jill saw Tirian let out a sharp, defeated sigh and give a small nod of resignation. He reached out to lay a hand on Jewel’s white muzzle and said something to him in a low voice that Jill couldn’t hear over the din. Within a moment, the King of Narnia had vanished into the forest.

With a final, helpless glance back at the stable, Jill allowed herself to be pulled away as well, reaching the trees just as the Dwarfs were being overrun.

_“I’m so sorry, Scrubb.”_  
  


 ————  
  


It was days before they truly stopped, and by then they were far into the Western Wild, in the land that once was Telmar. Tirian had said very little since leaving Stable Hill. His fearless, honest face was now shadowed and grim, and Jill could see hints of the shame he was feeling at having fled in what seemed like Narnia’s direst hour. She knew that the young King was further despairing because Jewel had still not caught up to them.

As for Jill herself, she felt lost in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of knowledge of Narnian geography. Scrubb was gone, dead in two worlds more likely than not, and they'd heard no more from Aslan during their long escape than they had before the battle at the stable.

When they finally stopped for more than water or a short rest, it was because they had reached a clearing deep in Telmar that was filled with all kinds of people. They were a small and ragged group, no more than thirty in number, but there were Talking Beasts and Fauns and Satyrs, three or four Humans, and even a few Dryads whose trees had not yet been felled. All had fled and made their way west as Narnia was overrun. Jill soon learned that more were arriving every day as they escaped the Calormenes, but she still worried that there were so very few Narnians who had made it into Telmar and so very many still at the mercy of their conquerors.

Jill sat down heavily at the edge of the clearing, having no one to greet among the refugees, and watched as her companions were enveloped into the crowd. There were happy reunions as friends and relatives found each other (including a fair amount of joyful barking from the Dogs), and she gave a small smile for the first time in days. The King himself was welcomed with a sad gladness, as he was beloved by his subjects but there was little hope despite that love that even he could bring all to rights. Upon meeting the Narnians, however, Jill saw a change come over Tirian. His back straightened and his jaw set as he began to greet each of his subjects according to their kind. Their faces pleaded for reassurance and comfort, and Jill watched Tirian give strength that he did not have and hope that he did not feel in each handshake and touch. She may have imagined it, but soon Jill noticed that the heaviness in the clearing had dissipated just a little.

As much experience as she had had with Narnian royalty, this was the first time she had experienced someone acting so… well… _kingly_. A flutter of something - she called it pride, for she had no better word - settled in her stomach.  
  


————  
  


She found him easily; he had taken to sitting along the riverbank in a place where a large, stately willow bent its graceful branches to brush the water. The leaves hid him from view and allowed him some peace for his thoughts, which continued to be many and troubled. Today, he sat staring into the river, absentmindedly knotting over and over a limber stem procured from a nearby plant.

Jill drew as close as she dared before calling softly.

“Sire?”

She had startled him slightly, having approached so quietly. (Scrubb had once remarked about how small and nimble she was, she thought with a twinge of sadness.) Tirian quickly looked over his shoulder, hand flying to the dirk at his hip, but returned his gaze to the gentle flow of the water when he saw who had spoken.

“Lady Jill.”

“You needn’t call me ‘Lady’ anymore,” Jill said, moving to join him on a mossy spot amid the thick roots of the willow. As if on an afterthought, she added, “I never really was one, anyway.”

“And you needn’t call me ‘Sire,’” Tirian returned bitterly, “as I am no longer a king.” He had stopped using his courtly “thees” and “thous,” she had noticed some time ago, perhaps influenced by weeks of rough camp life or his new role as an exile. She found that she missed his flowery speech a little.

“Nonsense,” Jill retorted, a bit more forcefully than she’d intended. “You’re still the King of Narnia. None but Aslan can take that away, and you know what he says: ‘Once a King—”

“I am no king if I have no country,” Tirian interrupted. “Narnia is gone, conquered. And I am the poor wretch who allowed it to happen.” As if to punctuate his statement, he tossed the knotted stem into the water and watched it bob away.

Jill chose not to acknowledge the self-pitying final statement, pressing on as if it hadn’t been uttered. “You are a king because you have a people. And Narnia has been conquered and restored before.”

“All the same, I ought to have died for her, as so many did. Jewel—” Tirian swallowed hard, “the good Boar, the Horses, Eustace…”

Jill’s stomach tightened especially at the last name, and the King saw her frown out of the corner of his eye. He turned to Jill, suddenly reaching out to clasp both of her hands in his.

“I am sorry I did not better protect him,” he said earnestly, his blue eyes dark with pain. “I am sorry that I could not save him for you.”

She didn’t know quite what to say to that. The thoughts came all at once and collided in her head: _I don’t fault you… It wasn’t up to you to save him… It wasn’t like that between me and Scrubb… He would have wanted to die for Narnia anyway, like we all said we would…_

And then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, _I’m glad it was you who survived and are here with me._

Before she had time to process that thought she realized that Tirian was speaking again, perhaps taking her silence for grief or acceptance of his apology.

“—back to your own country…”

Jill’s eyes went wide. “Back? After all that has happened you want me to go back?”

“Nothing would grieve me more deeply than to farewell you as well, Lady,” Tirian said with such a glum expression that Jill felt he really must mean it. He squeezed her hands. “But it would be unfair to keep you here with you countryman gone into Aslan’s paws and no Narnia left to defend. We shall seek out one of those rare portals to your world. Perhaps we chance a journey to Lantern Waste and pray that Aslan takes you through the same way as the Kings and Queens of Old—”

“If you think I’m going back home now, then you’re off your rocker,” Jill spat out with much more feeling than she’d meant to, causing Tirian to look quite startled and drop her hands. Nevertheless, she continued. “First off, there’s no guarantee that there is a way back by our own means, and since Aslan hasn’t sent me back himself yet it must mean there is more to be done, or more I can do. I also won’t risk the lives of yourself and others who have already made such narrow escapes in a selfish retreat. And finally,” here she looked fiercely at Tirian, who had opened his mouth to speak, “I am not about to sit back and let the Calormenes get away with what they’ve done.”

The young King was silent for a moment, long enough that Jill may have become a bit embarrassed at her outburst had she not felt so deeply committed to her words.

“Then,” Tirian said at last, with a small smile, “We must not waste the gift that Aslan has given us in Lady Jill.”

   
————  
  


They tumbled into the cave in a mess of limbs and feathers and fur, sticky from sweat and blood and panting from exertion. Jill caught a hoof in the back and someone stepped on her hand, but she eventually managed to roll out of the way. She pulled herself into a seated position against the cave wall, legs burning from the run and chest heaving as she gulped in the moist, earthy air.

“A near miss, and no mistake,” King Tirian gasped out once he had breath enough to do so. One of his arms was draped across the shoulders of the doubled-over Faun, Jarnus, while the hand of the other clutched at a stitch in his side. “But the damage has been done, and those wagons shan’t be making it to Tashbaan anytime soon! Well done by all!”

The Leopard Saama had recovered more quickly than the rest and let out a growly Feline laugh. “It was an excellent plan, Sire. The Tisroc (may he _not_ live forever!) will certainly be missing those gems, and I don’t doubt that things are about to go rather poorly for Tarkaan Tadeed once the Tisroc makes his wrath known.”

“Indeed, friend Leopard. We will also trust Aslan that the newly-freed Dwarfs will make it back to their families or their own mines, if any are still hidden from the Calormenes.”

“It would have been nice to have a few come over to our side, or at the very least show some gratitude,” grumbled Jarnus, but Tirian clapped him on the back.

“You are not wrong, noble Faun, but faithful to Aslan or no it is good to see Narnians freed and on their way out of Archenland.” The King was smiling, Jill noticed; it was that genuine, beaming smile that had graced his face more often since their raiding began, a smile that spoke of a life once again filled with purpose. Nothing pleased Tirian more these days than returning from a successful raid with all of his fellow outlaws unharmed, which by Aslan’s grace had been the norm for a few weeks now. They had not seen a casualty since that mission in Lantern Waste, where they had lost the good Dog Jakry to a Calormene arrow; his mate Karya was also sent back to the exile camp in Telmar after a permanent leg injury suffered in coming to his defense. There were five in their number now, and theirs was one of many such bands formed by the King to harry the Tisroc’s soldiers, supply lines, and outposts in Narnia, Archenland, and even northwestern Calormen. Their months of outlawry had molded them into a fiercely loyal and dangerous crew, and Tirian had even acquired a scar across his brow and cheek that Jill felt made him look dashing and roguish, more befitting the daring outlaw he had become than the stately king he once had been.

As uninhabited caves go, this one was nicer than many, and despite the close quarters, dirt, and damp it was made quite cozy once the fire was lit and Jarnus set to cooking a brace of rabbits that Farsight had brought down. Later, with their bellies fuller than they had been for days and the Eagle roosted in a tree outside to keep watch, Jarnus produced his pipes and began to play some soft Narnian melodies. Saama was curled up on the other side of the low fire, her eyes glowing in its flickering light as her spotted tail snaked lazily back and forth in its catlike way. Jill was silently contemplating the flames and the music, feeling the exhaustion of the day begin to overtake her, when Tirian’s soft voice broke into her reverie.

“Do you know this song?”

Jill shook her head. “It’s beautiful, though I can’t help feeling that it’s quite sad.”

Tirian nodded his agreement. “It was a favorite of my mother’s, Aslan rest her. An old Narnian ballad about a lady waiting for her betrothed to come home from war, not knowing that he will never return.”

“How very sad,” Jill said with a small frown, not sure that she liked it so well anymore since the lady was about to have a rather unpleasant bit of news, and at any rate Jill had never been much for pining princesses. But she sat silently listening before Tirian spoke again, his voice thoughtful.

“I imagine now that the lady’s name may have been Coralia.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“She was a pretty girl.”

Jill glanced over at the King. “You speak as if she were a real person.”

“She is. Coralia is a daughter of the Terebinthian king, and was, in happier days, my betrothed. We would have been married by now, had things not turned out as they did.”

Jill started almost imperceptibly and immediately hoped that Tirian hadn’t noticed. She wasn’t sure why this revelation surprised her - _isn't a king’s secondmost responsibility, beyond the protection and rule of his realm, to ensure a succession?_ \- but she certainly thought even less of the song now than she had a moment ago.

“And now the beautiful Coralia is waiting for you to return from war. It’s a lovely thought,” Jill said at last, feeling very much that it wasn’t at all.

Tirian laughed with neither mirth or bitterness. “It is, but I have no expectation that she waits for me. I have nothing to offer her now, a king in title only with no wealth or security or even a country to offer. I’m sure her father has made her a better match; in truth, I hope he has. She deserves better than a dirty, outlawed king who sleeps in caves and might each morning be waking up to his final day.”

“I am sorry for you,” Jill managed after a moment.

Tirian shrugged. “I didn’t know her well. We met but once, a few years ago. She was a kindhearted girl, though still very young, no older than sixteen. I hope she will be very happy.”

Jill bristled at that. “Sixteen is not so very young,” she muttered under her breath. Or was she seventeen now? Midsummer had come and gone weeks ago, and the leaves were starting to change even this far south in Archenland. _I suppose I am._

“As for this dirty, outlawed king,” he continued with a laugh, “he is also finding that he has little interest left in castles and fine clothing and rather has come to enjoy the company of brave field comrades to tittering noblewomen and stuffy courtiers.” At this, he flung an arm around Jill’s shoulders as the song came to an end and Jarnus started another. His face was serious, his eyes locked earnestly on hers. “You were marvelous today, Jill. Truly. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Jill caught herself blushing and lowered her face, feeling rather silly as she did so. _Keep it together, Pole._

“I am glad that it all went well.”

Tirian turned his eyes back to the fire as Jarnus continued to play and the evening deepened. At some point, Saama, accustomed to being awake at night, relieved Farsight of his sentry duty, and the Eagle fell asleep with his head tucked under his wing. The flames burned down to coals and eventually the music faded as slumber overtook the little party.

As morning broke bright and cold, Jill woke up to the awareness that she was pressed up against something broad and firm. Turning to look over her shoulder, she realized that it was Tirian, sleeping with his back against hers and his cloak tossed over the both of them. She had slept alongside Eustace in the same way countless times on their journey north to find the lost prince, but as she turned to rest her head back on her arms, she couldn’t help but notice that this didn’t feel remotely the same.

  
————

  
With tremendous effort, Jill took another step; the snow was already up to her knees and more was falling by the minute. The sky was an angry gray, and her face stung as the wind blasted mercilessly it with tiny shards of ice and tore away her breath. Her fingers and toes had gone numb long ago and she was chilled to the bone, the wet having seeped through every layer of her clothes. She was so exhausted that each snowdrift was beginning to look more tempting as a place to curl up and rest than an obstacle to be overcome.

When she chanced a glance beside her at Tirian, the outlaw king looked equally miserable, his cheeks red with cold and his head bent against the wind. Being taller, it was slightly easier for him to slog through the snow, but she knew his pack was heavier and that the knee that had been bothering him since the bridge sabotage would be giving him trouble. Still, he kept an arm extended toward her should she need it, for which she had more than once been grateful.

It was just the two of them now; their little band had slowly splintered during the past months. They had left Saama in Western Narnia after she found some of her own people in hiding and stayed behind to escort them to safety in Telmar. A few weeks later, Farsight had gone south to collect information about a rumored leather- and weapons-making operation that had reportedly been the destination for captured Narnian Horses and Cattle. (Jill still shuddered at the horror of it and hoped that Farsight would return with news that the rumors were false.) The most recent and painful separation had occurred just three days before when dear Jarnus was killed in an ambush that Jill and Tirian had only narrowly managed to escape. Since then, the two remaining Humans had been moving south, hoping to find refuge for the winter in the foothills of the mountains on the Calormene border.  
  
They had already been walking for hours when the gale appeared, and Jill had no idea how long they had been slogging since. The storm clouds had thickened so that everything was cast in a dim, gray light. It was impossible to tell the hour, and there were no discernible landmarks to indicate if they were making any progress at all. Not only were they traveling across the flat grassland of central Archenland, but the storm had limited their visibility to only a few feet in front of them.

They might have been going in circles.

It was unspoken between them - neither had talked for what felt like hours, consumed by the effort of forward movement - but they needed to find shelter, and quickly. What had started as an unpleasant trudge through deep snow had soon devolved into a much more dangerous journey as the squall hit. Now, they were caught in the open on the broad Archen plain with no trees or rocks to provide any reprieve from the storm. Jill thought longingly of cozy caves, of Jarnus’s hot cooking and soul-warming songs, and of her soft, safe, comfortable bed back in that Other Place she was beginning to forget. In a moment of weakness she even found herself yearning for that glorious four-poster bed in the Giant castle of Harfang.

They pressed on, one frozen and booted foot in front of the other. Jill clutched her hood under her chin with one hand, a feeble effort against the wind, while the other arm was extended toward Tirian for balance. Suddenly, she slipped, rolling her ankle and dropping hard to her hands and knees. Her fall was partly cushioned by the snow, but it still caused her to let fly a word that she was glad the wind carried away. She quickly felt Tirian’s hand grasp her upper arm to help her to her feet, but he abruptly paused in the effort. Jill looked up into the King’s face and found him staring off over her shoulder. She saw rather than heard him yell to her.

“LOOK!”

She followed his gaze and caught sight of what might have been stone, just barely visible amid the gray of the storm. Tirian hauled Jill to her feet and they changed course, trudging with renewed and desperate strength toward what Jill prayed wasn’t some sort of snowy mirage. Within a few agonizingly long minutes the wretched pair drew close enough to discern a small stone cottage almost completely overtaken by the snow. They had nearly passed it and would have had she not fallen at just that moment. Jill could have cried in relief if she had had any energy left.

_Thank you, Aslan._

A tightly-shuttered window faced them, the snowdrifts licking at its bottom edge, and they followed the length of the cottage to find an entrance. It took them frustratingly longer than hoped, as they turned toward the back instead of the front and had to circle the entire structure before locating the door. It was a sturdy thing made of heavy oak, and they pounded on it with all that they had, crying out to the inhabitants to have mercy and let them in.

There was no answer; the door didn’t budge. Tirian looked to Jill, who gave a small shrug.

_Better to beg forgiveness for breaking in than to die out here in the cold._

It was a simple wooden latch, thank Aslan, and easily maneuvered. Tirian shoved the door open with his shoulder and they spilled inside. The snow came with them, swirling on the wind into the room. With effort, together they pushed the door shut and latched it again, then turned to look around.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim light, but soon they discerned that the cottage was empty and, by the looks of it, had been abandoned for some time. Cobwebs clung to the rafters and everything was covered in a layer of dust that had only just now been disturbed by the gale through the open door. The entire place was made up of a single room, with a few pieces of rough but well-made furniture that included a table and three stools to one side and a low bed to the other. In the center of the back wall was an iron stove with, miraculously, a small pile of wood to feed it. Jill’s heart leapt.

Tirian immediately made his way to the stove and soon a modest fire began to chip away at the cold of the room. He also pulled open the door again to collect a heaping bucket of snow, which he set atop the stove to melt. Jill, meanwhile, rummaged through the single cupboard in search of any food or supplies left behind, but found little more than a tin of sardines and some old, moldy biscuits. She lit the few candles scattered about the room before finally sitting heavily down on one of the stools. Her entire body was exhausted, and she unshouldered her pack to fall to the floor with a _thunk_.

“Another near miss,” she said at last, in a voice that was almost a whisper.

“It does seem to be the way of things of late,” Tirian replied. He was crouched by the fire, hands extended toward its glow. “Thanks be to Aslan for his provision of this cottage. We’d not have lasted much longer in the storm.”

Jill nodded weakly, though Tirian’s back was to her. “I w-wonder who l-lived here,” she said around her suddenly chattering teeth. “W-where they’ve gone.”

“Dear Jill! How you’re shivering!” Tirian was at her side in an instant and reached out to rub her upper arms. “You’re soaked through. We must get you dry.”

Jill nodded again as Tirian crossed to the bed and returned with a large woolen blanket that looked gloriously warm and inviting. Jill reached for it eagerly, but Tirian pulled the bundle away from her grasp, looking suddenly very sheepish. She looked up at him in confusion.

“Forgive me, Lady,” he said, abruptly formal and a bit awkward. “But I think it would be best… if you removed some of your wet things first.”

Jill blushed at once, though she wasn’t sure why. The two of them had been traveling, eating, sleeping, and fighting side-by-side for almost a year. They had seen each other at their best and worst, dressed each other’s wounds and shared blankets, laughed together and thrown petty barbs during grumpier moments. Formality and decorum had largely fallen away as they’d settled into life as members of an outlaw band.

But now the band was no more. Now, there was only Jill and Tirian.

“Right,” Jill said after a moment’s awkward pause. “Of course.”

Tirian laid the blanket on the table beside her and moved closer to the stove, turning his back to give her some privacy. As quickly as she could with her frozen fingers, Jill shimmied out of her heavy cloak and clothes, leaving on her wet underthings for modesty’s sake. The chill of the cabin bit her damp skin and caused it to ripple with gooseflesh, and she quickly wrapped herself in the heavy blanket. Despite the scratchiness of the wool, she sighed in delight as she felt the first hint of warmth in days, then returned the favor of turning her back so that Tirian could change as well. They looked rather silly and laughed at their own awkwardness as they tried to lay out their wet clothes in front of the stove without letting their blankets slip, but soon enough they were each seated on a stool at the table, sharing the tin of sardines and some hard biscuits from their packs in a small but much-welcomed supper.

“I do wonder who it was that lived here,” Jill repeated between mouthfuls, looking around. “It does appear that they left in a hurry, since there was still wood for the fire and blankets on the bed. It seems that all they took was food.”

“I shouldn’t doubt that many of the farmers in these parts fled to Anvard once Narnia fell,” Tirian replied. “Or at least to the nearest stronghold.”

“I do hope they’re all right,” Jill said softly.

“We owe them our lives, to be sure,” Tirian agreed. “And by the end of the night, once the wood runs out, we will more than likely owe them a couple of stools.” He smiled softly at her, his kind face glowing golden in the candlelight and looking so handsome that her breath caught just a little.

“I hope you’re a good carpenter,” she said at last, wondering if her voice sounded as forced to him as it did to her. She also wondered why she was suddenly so aware of the way his hair was falling into his eyes, or that his beard was coming in more fully now than when they’d first met. The fact that his blanket had slipped down to reveal a bare shoulder didn’t help much either.

The King laughed. “Dear, dear Jill. I don’t know what I would have done without you these months.”

Jill smiled.

  
————

  
Night fell, or so they thought, though it was hard to tell with the storm still raging outside and the windows shut up tight. After Tirian caught Jill yawning for the fourth time, he laughed and stood up, pulling her to her feet by one hand while they clutched their blankets about them with the others.

“We should retire,” he said, blowing out the two candles on the table. “Only Aslan knows what tomorrow will bring.”

He stepped away to add a final log to the fire, and Jill moved toward the bed.

_The bed._ She stopped short.

There was something about a bed that somehow felt much different from a cave floor, or a tent, or the ground under an open sky. She had slept next to Tirian countless times, but never in a bed. She’d never slept with any man in a bed, for that matter, not even Scrubb.

She turned to find Tirian watching her. They stood in deafening silence for a moment.

Jill had just opened her mouth to speak when Tirian beat her to it.

“Please don’t worry about me, Lady.”

“No,” Jill said, hoping terribly that she wasn’t blushing. “No, don’t be silly. You haven’t had a bed in ages. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Tirian looked at first like he wanted to protest, like his royal sense of decorum was battling with his travel-worn body over how to respond.

“Please,” Jill said quietly, surprising even herself. Quickly, she added, “It will be much warmer.”

Tirian took a heavy breath, then gave a small nod. He turned around again, allowing Jill to climb under the remaining blanket and arrange her own over it. The mattress was worn and lumpy and cool to the touch, but it was better by a mile than sleeping on rocks and dirt. Once she was settled, she turned her head to the side to allow Tirian to slide in, too. She pretended not to see as he shrugged off his blanket, revealing his broad, bare chest and the simple pair of loose trousers he had been wearing since they began their outlawry. He spread his blanket over hers, then slid under all three until she could feel the heat of his skin right next to, but not touching, her. It was a small bed and there was little room to spare. Jill barely dared to breathe, and she worried that the King could hear her heart pounding.

They lay like that for some time, until Jill might have wondered if Tirian had fallen asleep had she not been already accustomed to how his breathing changed when he dozed off. She was about to say something to break the silence when again Tirian spoke up first.

“I owe my life to you as well, Lady Jill,” he said softly.

Jill’s eyes went wide. “Me?” She turned her head toward him, though only the silhouette of his face was visible in the near-darkness. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I was a king who had lost his country,” Tirian continued, speaking to the rafters. “I was a failure, a disgrace to my family and my people. But you would not let me despair. You gave my life, my purpose, back to me. You, who could have gone back to the safety and comfort of your own world, have been my most steadfast and constant companion through these dark days. None could have been more courageous or more true.”

He turned his head to face her, and Jill wished for all the world that she could have seen made out his features in that moment. His right hand reach for her left and she gave it to him, felt him interlace his big fingers and her small ones. Her heart, if possible, was thundering even more loudly in her ears.

“I owe you a tremendous debt. You have become indispensable to me; I cannot live without you.”

“Tirian—”

“Nay, do not protest!” Jill felt the bed move as Tirian shifted to face her. She felt his left hand cup her right cheek, his arm laying heavily across her chest. “Don’t you understand? It would not be enough to make you a lady of the court. It would not be enough to make you a knight.” His face was inches from hers, his breath warm on her face. “I would make you a queen.”

Jill’s heart stopped.

“I would make you _my_ queen.”

He kissed her then, his lips finding hers in the darkness and sending her senses into shock. Her body took over, however, and she found herself returning the kiss, her right hand rising to tangle itself in his hair, pulling him closer to her. At her response his urgency increased, pressing them closer together, the months of shared hardships and loss and sacrifice and too-small victories crashing over them until they both pulled away breathless.

Tirian was breathing heavily, raised up on one elbow over her, his hand still cupping her face as if he was trying to recall every feature in the dark. Jill reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes, her thumb lingering on his new scar, tracing it by touch across his brow to his cheek. She was at a loss for words. There had been other kisses Before, a few flirtatious ones with boys at school and one that she had thought at the time might have been real, but nothing like this. There had never been anyone like Tirian, this King of the land she loved, this handsome and noble man who trusted and valued her and treated her like a strong and capable partner rather than a silly schoolmate. She knew in that moment why she had stayed in Narnia, why Aslan hadn’t called her away.

“I can feel your thoughts churning,” Tirian said softly, and she could hear a smile in his voice even as it was edged with apprehension. “Please share them with me. I worry I have been too forward and have offended you.”

“No,” Jill said quickly, drawing his head back down to her for another quick, reassuring kiss. When they parted, she continued, “I was only contemplating how we are going to break the news to Terebinthia.”

Tirian laughed, and Jill thought it quite possibly her favorite sound in all the world. "To Tash with Terebinthia!” the King cried, kissing her again. “To Tash with Galma, and Archenland, and the Calormenes!” He punctuated the name of each land with another kiss, then collapsed beside Jill and drew her close.

“I am a free Narnian, if such a thing exists anymore, and tonight I care only for Jill.”

  
————

  
By the next morning, the storm had abated, leaving behind crystalline blue skies and snow drifts that covered the cottage windows and would have buried Jill at least to her waist had they attempted to resume their trek to Calormen. Fortunately, neither of them was in any hurry to leave.


End file.
